The Jungle Moments
by Alexandra7
Summary: She hated crying, much less in front of people, much less in front of Arnold.
1. Poke

A/N: So I've been ridiculously into Hey Arnold recently. I feel like I'm revisiting a childhood that I never finished because of the unresolved tension between Helga and Arnold. I guess this is my way of addressing that issue: creating my own ending for them!

The kiss in TJM – so many different takes by so many authors! But what about other moments from the trip? I feel like there could be many leading up to the kiss. Here's one of them. Please let me know what you think and if you think I should share more! Tank ya and happy readin'.

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Helga was drifting somewhere between asleep and awake, just at the moment where conscious thought takes flight and turns into something that doesn't make sense.

_Arnold, Football Head, yellow, dandelions, Arnold and dandelions, Arnold's hair is dandelions… what?_

She suddenly twitched awake in her seat, but so softly that no one might have noticed. Except for one boy. She stealthily listened for any movement above the plane's constant whir of the boy next to her. He had been fidgeting since their departure, but he was silent and still now. He must have finally been able to fall asleep. The thought helped her to relax again. She could only see the blurry line of dim light where her cheeks met her eye mask. Concentrating on the peacefulness of the moment, her eyes began to droop shut again…

An itch on her nose. She scratched it.

Followed by a tickle on her arm. She rolled slightly on her side towards Arnold, laying her arm along the length of the armrest. She spied her hand through the sliver of her eye mask, fingers slightly dangling and wondered what it would be like if Arnold were to ever hold her hand. Would he just cup their hands or would he lace their fingers? She guessed he would probably be the type to softly stroke with his thumb… and maybe even bring it up to his mouth for a kiss on the knuckles. She wondered if he'd ever done that to other girls. For the billionth time – she wondered if he'd done that to Lila.

But then – holding her breath and not daring to move a muscle – she saw his hand approaching hers through the sliver of her mask. Slowly, like a secret, his fingers hovered above hers for an agonizing moment. She frowned in confusion as his hand stayed there, rotating slowly until he finally touched her. His index finger grazed her skin – barely – so softly that she wouldn't have even noticed had she not been watching. She felt her beating heart creep up her throat.

She stared in confusion as his hand continued to hover above hers for another moment. His finger ventured up further to linger somewhere above the patch of skin between her thumb and finger. He stayed there for a moment again before he tapped her. It was a touch so small, but so thought out, and so _stupid_, that Helga wondered if the idiot was actually poking her.

A long breath issued out of her nose. Of _course_ he was poking her. He'd been awake this whole time, too anxious to arrive in San Lorenzo to sleep, and now he was punishing her for trying.

Her theory was confirmed when she felt another itch on her nose. She deftly swept the eye mask off her face and was met by Arnold's hand floating in front of her face and his ashamed one behind it.

"What the _heck_ are you doing?" she whispered harshly.

"Oh hey," he said brightly, casually bringing his hand around his neck. "You still awake?"

"Have you been _poking_ me?" she hissed.

"What? No! I've just been…" but her menacing stare broke him. "Well, okay, I might have accidentally bumped you, but I didn't –"

"Cut the crap! What do you want?"

He stared at her hard for a moment, before a small smile broke out. "Honestly, Helga?" He leaned in slightly closer to her. "I'm bored out of my mind, and you're just sitting there _sleep_ing and not yelling at me or insulting me or _any_thing. Let's argue about something. Please."

He waited with bated breath as she stared at him, dumbfounded. "How about the shape of my head?" he suggested. "You seem to favor that one."

She sometimes didn't know what to make of this new Arnold – the way he was more confident about joking around with her and less afraid of pushing her buttons. It still caught her off guard, leaving her slightly embarrassed and relatively un-bully-like. She hated it. Sometimes he would even go as far as to laugh at her insults, saying they were getting old and that she needed new material.

She recomposed herself. "Why don't you just try sleeping like normal people instead of being a little Football Headed freak?"

"Don't be mad," he said quietly, and he suddenly placed his warm hand over her small pale one. "I just…" he began, his eyes shyly cast downward. "I can't sleep right now."

Helga tried to control her breathing as she watched his thumb begin to softly glide over her skin in a quiet caress. She felt the annoyance she held previously suddenly dissipate from her.

"I'm not mad," she whispered shakily, and then, "Your head looks like a melon."


	2. Heal

A/N: Hey everyone, I'd just like to let you know that I've reached an ultimate high in my life. Instead of studying for my 8 o'clock final tomorrow morning, I'm staying up until 3am writing Hey Arnold! fanfiction. Also, my healthy bedtime snacks include caffeine (which will undoubtedly aid my sleeping pattern) and McDonalds! I gotta tell ya, I just feel like a million bucks. Happy reading, folks!

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"It's – ouch – nothing," he dismissed, fisting his hand. "Let's keep moving."

But she grasped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "If it's nothing, let me see it." She struggled with him, but he was pulling his arm up in the air, attempting and failing to keep it out of her reach. "No," he said. "Helga, it's just a little scrape," and he was stumbling backwards into the forest as she dug her heels into the dirt. "_Let – me – see – it_," she seethed.

"Let go, we have to keep –"

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" she suddenly shrieked, relinquishing her hold on him as he toppled over backwards into the ground. "So?" he said, still shuffling away from her. "A little blood will help heal…" and then he noticed how terrified her face was, standing still in her tracks with her palms held out. Shiny and red. He brought down his arm and saw the tiny red rivulets running down to his elbow, the smears from Helga's grasp, and muttered an, "Uh oh."

She was on top of him then, doing seemingly everything at once. Grasping his hand, lacing her fingers upwards from the back of his injured hand to levitate it, pushing his hair back, coaxing him up, cooing him, supporting him, catching him, all between a hazy queasiness of dark spots and stumbles along the forest floor.

Breathe in and out. He tried to concentrate on what he was seeing. Dirt and grass and twigs and leaves. Pink, pink, pink… Breathe in. Breathe out. _Pink_.

Scenery left for a few moments. He was being guided somewhere, and he didn't remember why or who or what.

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And then the most wonderful combination of senses came rushing back to Arnold, coaxing him out of his faint. Collapse, he was resting. Touch, a rush of coolness that helped him breathe. Smell, _her_ – and he felt her moving under him, heard her voice.

"…is single-minded to the point of recklessness," she grumbled. "And here _I_ am, I must be the _stupid_est girl on the planet to have even _agreed_ to go along with this bozo operation…"

"Not stupid," he mumbled against her. His eyes drifted open, seeing the thick blonde hair that smelled so nice. His face was resting against her shoulder blade as she was bent forward over the small river, keeping Arnold's hand submerged in the icy current. He let out a contented sigh at the feeling.

"It _is _stupid Arnold. I know a stupid situation when I see one, trust me. I've had my experience when it comes to you and stupid situations, and I think I can easily recognize one –"

"I meant you," he interrupted as forcefully as he could, considering the little bit of strength he had regained. She didn't say anything but brought his hand out of the water, placing it delicately in her lap. He felt her begin wrap some sort of bandage over the cut and around his hand. He felt the stinging but tried to ignore it. He rubbed his face in frustration against her shoulder. "I…" he sighed. "Look, I agree that this situation is… pretty stupid, and as far as all the other trouble we've been in, this situation is going to be pretty hard to beat, but I mean… you're not stupid, Helga. I… I'm the one who got us into this mess, and I don't want you to beat yourself up over it."

She remained silent, continuing her work.

"Alright?" he prompted.

He felt her tense. "What do you know about me?" she muttered. "Nothing."

He frowned. "I've known you since preschool, Helga. I know a lot about you."

"No, Arnold! I mean what do you _really_ know about me? Don't imply you have insight to my intelligence level because all you know is tough, mean, _bully _Helga G. Pataki, so don't you dare try and tell me that you know –"

"Maybe I was wrong, Helga! Maybe you _are_ stupid if you think that I can't see past that charade." His free arm was coming around her waist without conscious effort, squeezing her with anger and frustration. "I _know_ you, Helga," he said. "Maybe not everything, but…" he sighed. "I'm trying, alright?" he whispered. "I know there's a reason you keep avoiding talking about your parents and sister and poetry and what happened on the roof of –"

"THERE YOU GO! ALL DONE!" she yelled chirpily, and she finished tying the knot around his hand, suddenly stood and walked a few feet further down the riverbank, bending over to wash her hands again. "I don't think you'll need stitches. Just remember to wash it again, and here's some good advice: Don't climb any more trees, you klutz!"

Arnold gave a loud, audible sigh, struggled to his feet, and trudged over to her. "I'm sorry, alright?" he murmured. "This is our last stupid situation ever. I promise."

She stood up and turned to him, wiping her hands on her dress to avoid eye contact with him. "I understand why we're here. I understand what we're trying to do, and it's not stupid. I… I was just angry because… although this is important, you've just… you've got to mend your damn wounds, alright? Your health and safety should always be a priority. I don't want to see you hurt." She turned slightly pink, and then added, "you idiot."

Arnold took a second to recognize a significant moment. It seemed as if the voice of reason had taken different sides all of a sudden. He stared at her in slight shock. It was an out-of-body experience to suddenly realize that he was being the reckless one, making hasty decisions at the expense of himself and others. "You're…you're right," he stuttered. She looked up at him shyly, one eye hidden by her hair, which he suddenly realized was down, cascading in waves around her shoulders. "Hey, where'd your…?" he gestured with his hand, only to unexpectedly catch sight of the missing article.

Her pink bow, tied securely as a bandage around his hand, nearly made his heart stop on the spot.

"_Helga_," he moaned quietly. She took a few steps back and focused somewhere on the ground as if looking for something to do. Arnold was suddenly in awe of the girl before him. Entranced by her bashfulness, the way her eyes hid behind her eyelashes, the thought of what she had just done, he began to approach her. Whereas his heart had nearly stopped before, now it felt as if it might explode from his chest, as there was only one thought on his mind. His breathing picked up, and he could see that hers had too. He was close enough to touch her now, and as his fingers found her face, Arnold's consuming thought became plausible action. She was looking at him now, blue eyes and fast breaths brought his head lower to hers like a magnet. He closed his eyes, tilted his head, and –

"HEY ARNOLD!" rang Gerald's voice.

"HELGA?" yelled Phoebe's.

Arnold didn't know if he wanted to hug or strangle his former lost best friend. With Helga's face still in his hands, he didn't open his eyes, but leaned in around her face for a peck on the cheek… and a lingered second. "Thank you, Helga," he breathed into her ear before taking her hand, turning them around, and running in the direction of their friends' voices. Had he looked behind him, he would have seen Helga's blushing face, fueled with all the blood in her body.


	3. Cry

A/N: HEY CATS. Before you begin reading chapter three, I'd just like to express my thanks to the comments everyone's left so far! Quite a few of you guys have expressed how you believe these moments have great TJM potential, but I'd like to give you fair warning: PROBS NOT IN THIS CHAPTER. I like to think that yes, there would be several moments, but none lasting as long as this and on this level. Much less applicable to the movie, but hey, I wanted it to happen so IT'LL HAPPEN IN MY FIC. ALSO: Just a reminder, these guys are apparently ten? PROBS NOT IN THIS CHAPTER.

Disclaimer: Guys, honestly, if anything, Hey Arnold! owns me.

"Don't… touch… me," she hiccupped warningly.

"Helga, it's just me," he soothed, reaching out towards her.

She leaned away from him. "No… I'll cry harder," she cautioned. Her face began to scrunch up just looking at his outstretched hand, diligently suspended above her shoulder. She automatically summoned the vision of them holding hands on the plane, thinking of how at that moment she thought it would be the only time he would ever purposely touch her, and now his face held so much worry, his green eyes showering her with concern, flashing back and forth between her own wet ones. "Just… wait," she croaked.

His brow knitted together. "Wait?" he echoed softly.

Her breath caught as she hiccupped again, sighing at his stupidity. How the hell was she supposed to make him understand? If he would touch her, that would make it ten times worse. She couldn't stand feeling sorry for herself anymore, and his warm touch would break her even further. "I'm not ready yet," she spoke, rolling her eyes at the sound of her own nasally voice. She _hated_ crying, much less in front of people, much less in front of _Arnold_.

He continued to stare at her concernedly for a moment before he leaned back and dropped his hand with a slow uneasiness. "Okay," he whispered. He remained with a firm alertness about him, not looking away with his hand resting between them as they sat on the jungle floor. Helga brought her knees back up to her chest and wrapped her thin arms around them, resting her head on the tree behind her. Shying away from Arnold's steady gaze, she glanced up at the stars through the tall canopy. They shone brighter than in the city, and her warm breath swirled around in the cool air above her as she tried to steady her breathing. She could feel her wet eyes still shining, so she hastily wiped at her cheeks with her hand, dragging the inside of her wrist up to meet the corner of her eye. She rubbed the salty liquid from her lashes, licked it from her lips, and pressed the back of her hands against her warm cheeks, leaving them there until her face cooled off. Satisfied, she sniffed and wiped the wetness on her knees.

She wished she could brush away the embarrassment that was still left of Arnold finding her like this – sobbing alone under a tree. _Pathetic_, she thought to herself. They had all been setting up for the night, Helga and Phoebe laying out their sleeping bags while Arnold and Gerald put out the fire, when she felt an overwhelming lump form in the back of her throat. She delivered a quick lame excuse to Phoebe, and she darted out and around the tent, looking for a sanctuary as she stumbled in her sudden, unexpected sobs. Finding a halo of large trees rooting out of the ground, she collapsed inside of them and began to empty herself of her tears. And then _he_ showed up.

She peeked at him again. His eyes were still fixed on her, so she dropped them again and began to trace a line in the dirt with her finger. He shifted closer to her.

"Better?" he asked.

She pushed the tip of her finger in the dirt until she felt it fill her fingernail. "I think so," she muttered.

"Good," he said, scooting closer still. "Can…" he hesitated. "Can I touch you now?"

Taken aback, Helga looked up at him again and frowned. "No," she said defensively. "Don't think that just because you found me… crying means you can get all mushy with me."

He sighed as he leaned back against the tree next to her, still not looking away, he fixed her with a look of frustration, brow furrowed as his eyes underneath searched her face. Helga tried to look away, after all, his face was much too close at the moment, but she saw something there that caught her fixation. The slight downturn of his mouth, the way his knit brow relaxed and he turned his gaze downward, it could only be called disappointment.

Without any second thought, Helga was running her fingers up the inside of his wrist and into his hand where she laced their fingers. Arnold stared at their hands, unmoving. She was about to mentally berate herself for her sudden impulse when she felt him squeeze her hand comfortably, wiggling his fingers so that their palms were touching. He smiled out of the corner of his mouth as a slight blush rose to meet his face, and as he looked up, she looked away at the same time.

So there they were - holding hands on the forest floor, Helga staring off uncomfortably ahead of her, and Arnold gazing contentedly at her profile. She let out an uneasy breath as he began stroking her with his thumb – gentle yet confident swipes of his warm skin across hers.

"Tell me why you were crying," he said in a low voice.

"No," she responded promptly.

He didn't say anything but stopped his ministrations with his thumb. She took a breath. "I don't know why."

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. "Scared?" he whispered softly. She didn't say anything but squeezed his hand slightly, prompting him to caress her hand once more. "Me too," he sighed, and that was where they silently agreed to leave the conversation. After a few minutes Arnold stood and pulled Helga up with him. He led the way back to the tent, tightening his grip on Helga's hand as she tried to let go. "Hey, who said you could keep holding my hand, bucko?" she jostled.

"I guess I did," he smiled.

"Well, I didn't, so let go," she said, wiggling her fingers incessantly.

"No dice, Pataki," he said as he pulled them under a tree branch. "I don't want you pulling another disappearing act on me."

"Disappearing act?" she asked as they emerged on the other side. "Oh – look, I'm not going to go anywhere, so –"

"Hey, neither am I, okay?" Helga almost ran into him as he suddenly paused in his tracks to look behind at her. He squeezed her hand again. "So get used to it."

Momentarily shocked, Helga stared at him speechless as he drank in her stunned expression. Satisfied, he turned and continued to lead the way through the brush. Regaining a bit of her composure, she stuttered, "That doesn't… what – what d'you… I'm not… you – you're a… _football head_," she finished lamely.

"New material," he commented. She growled angrily and he began laughing. With the tent now in sight, they became quiet. Taking advantage Arnold's relaxed hold, Helga swiftly withdrew her hand from his. "No more mushy stuff," she snapped, extending her arm away from him. She sped off ahead from him, approaching the tent with a frown. She heard him mutter something but was concentrating too hard on getting away from him to hear it. All she wanted to do was curl up in a sleeping bag, cover her head with a pillow, and ponder the conundrum of Arnold Shortman.

She reached for the zipper and pulled it down slowly. She ducked, put one leg into the tent and froze.

"What's the matter?" Arnold whispered behind her. He peered over her shoulder, getting a view of the tent's two occupants, fast asleep in their sleeping bags, their arms outstretched between them as they held hands.

"Gee, it's sure nice to know that we could've been eaten by a cougar while our best friends slept by soundly," remarked Helga.

"Shhh," he laughed. "I'm sure they've been asleep a long time." He placed his hands on her back and nudged her slightly to crawl inside.

"Hey, don't get pushy," she hissed, but then he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her halfway out of the tent again.

"Do you really think there are cougars here?" he whispered, eyes wide and hand tight. They stared silently at each other for a moment, and with impeccable timing, a twig snapped in the distance, sending the two blondes tumbling into the darkness of the tent. They both scrambled for the zipper and pulled it up quickly. Becoming instantly still, they strained their ears past the silence of the crickets and their own breathing. With no new noises after a few minutes, Helga redirected her attention towards the boy in front of her. Eyes adjusted, she was only able to make out his dark silhouette. He reached out towards her, finding her shoulders, and guided her past the sleeping forms of Gerald and Phoebe. They bent to their hands and knees, silently feeling for their sleeping bags. Helga spent a few moments grasping at the material of the tent's floor before she remembered.

Sitting back, she pressed her palms over her eyes, silently cursing. Her mind raced hundreds of paths to possible solutions, all meeting dead ends. Meanwhile she heard Arnold rustling with his bag and the zipper close. As silence settled again, Helga's heart hammered loudly in her chest. _It's okay_, she told herself. _He doesn't even know. Just be perfectly still and he won't_ –

She saw him sit up and half roll/crawl towards her. Screaming silently in her head, she covered her face again with her hands. _Think of something, think of something! _He reached her, his hand feeling along her arm up to the hands that covered her face. A recently common occurrence, Helga's heart was suddenly beating in her throat as he pressed his cheek against hers.

"What," he whispered next to her ear, sending her hairs to stand on end, and she involuntarily freed the breath she had been holding. At this closeness she was out of control, out of her element, no longer responsible for her words or actions. Her façade broken, she marveled at how easy the truth spilled out of her.

"G-gave it to her," she breathed.

"…What?" he repeated.

"My bag," she replied, her eyes drifting shut at the feeling of his breath on her cheek. "Phoebe." She heard his mouth open, and for a minute he sat still. Her eyes slowly drifted open again, wondering at the loss of his breath.

And then he was hugging her, his arms tight around her waist, the breath of his comprehension exhaled against her ear. She nearly whimpered as his lips grazed her. "Oh _Helga_," he cooed, and for the second time he was kissing her cheek. Once, twice, three times, squeezing her, holding her, pressing her, breathing her, soothing her, hypnotizing her, blinding her, and what was her name again?

"Helga," he smiled. "Here," and then his arms were gone from around her, his lips gone from against her, and her eyes rolled back into focus. Submerging from the depths of whatever spell Arnold had put her under, she breathed again.

He was shifting around, unzipping his bag, reaching for her again, but she pressed her arms against his chest as he tried to envelop her. "C'mere," he prompted, pulling on her arms. She almost fell into him again.

"Huh?" she whimpered dumbly.

One word, so faint yet so bold, "Share?" he whispered, and then she _did_ fall into him.

"_No_," her voice trembled against his shirt. Out of the darkness, sense came to her. "No, you're _Arnold_. You're supposed to _offer_ it to me."

He chuckled softly, reaching over her to zip up the bag. She took advantage of this and rolled the other way so she wouldn't have to face him. "You wouldn't have taken it," he said.

"I… I _would_ have," she stressed. He lay down then, pushing some of her hair out of the way. "No touching," she murmured.

And then it was silent. As tired as Helga should have been, she felt wired lying next to Arnold. She could feel the heat coming off of his body along her back. She heard his breathing, slowing with every minute, but the thing that got her the most was his scent, not only from the boy's yellow hair right next to her, but the sleeping bag itself, positively saturated with the fragrance of his shampoo. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart. A sigh echoed from him, too. She wondered which way he was laying. She wanted to know.

"So…" she began. "Do you know your wingspan?"

Silence.

"What?"

"Of your freakishly weird-shaped hair?"

"…Helga, is that supposed to be new material?"

"…Yes."

He leaned over her then, smiling against her cheek as he gave her the last kiss of the night.

"Well," he sighed against her, "I suppose the wingspan of our hair styles would match, so… do you know yours?"

"_Shut up_."

A/N: HALVSIES. AS IN, WOW THIS CHAPTER MARKS HALVSIES OF THE STORY. Who wants to play a game? What did Arnold say that Helga didn't hear upon entering the tent? Winner gets… PRIDE.


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